Hanukkah--Part III (dedication definition)

Hanukkah is a commemoration of the second temple destruction. It is a celebration of the miracle of the long-lasting oil. It is a dedication to the temple.

One night of oil was not enough for the Judeans to make more oil. Eight days was. In this way, Hanukkah is also about preparation.

Frankly this is too big a scale for me to grasp. I don’t understand the magnitude of having to re-dedicate the holy of holies after winning an underdog battle against the fierce Antiochus IV and his soldiers. Whew, it’s overwhelming just in writing.

I do understand dedication though. I have just recently moved, again, for the tenth time in as many years. In each of these moves I have been able to rededicate my place (just because the physical location is different and they’ve all been apartments, the link is they are my home). I get to go through the process of unpacking my belongings and re-evaluating their importance in my life. I get to hang my mezuzzot. And when I put my dishes away, I am conscious and conscientious of kashrut. As I hang a chaotic collage of pictures I am aware of where I have been and remind myself of where I want to be.

Eight days may not be long enough for me to prepare for the next stage, for the full rededication, but it is a good start and it affords the time to think. What is the next step? How do I prepare for it? How do I spend this transition time? For this last one, I take notice of what the Judeans did. Rather than saying there was not enough oil to last through the making of oil and either giving up or working in the dark, they went for it. They did not put on hold the “now” for the “later”. Nor did they paralyze themselves with fear. They forged ahead.
So too will I. I will continue to lead my life as desired with the knowledge that I am preparing and forging ahead.

Hanukkah--Part II (dreidels and miracles)

And the dreidel/gambling conversation continues...

The gambling idea came about during the time of the Greeks. Jews were thought to be lazy and nothing but gamblers so this became a way to fool the soldiers. Since Jews were forbidden to come together and study or pray but somehow gambling was acceptable, that is what they did. When the guards weren’t paying attention, our ancestors could study Torah. The game was an immediate cover. Sometime during the medieval period the dreidel was introduced. At some point it overtook other game forms during Hanukkah and today remains an icon for the festival.

This is idea is uncertain and came about after the fact and still holds controversy.

Regardless of the origin, it’s mnemonic device stands for “A great miracle happened there (here)”. Every time the dreidel is touched, the players are reminded of the events which gave way to holiday. A time of perseverance and of hope and of victory. I guess I also wonder if during the miracle, those involved know it was so. What I mean is that I can’t imagine the Macabees coming to the Temple, finding the one jar of oil, burning it for the night and when it didn’t go out on the second day, exclaiming “it must be a miracle”. Perhaps they did cheer and sigh in relief and wonder. Perhaps by the fourth night they began to get suspicious. And maybe by the eighth night they were simply dumbfounded.

But a miracle? They just suffered the destruction of the holiest places they knew and some oil burning longer than expected would elicit the response of miracle? This could be the cynic in me talking or it could be the cliché regarding the clarity of hindsight. I actually like to think that they weren’t really aware of what was in front of them. I am then able to look at my life and the lives of those around me and wonder if this too is a miracle. I contrast this idea of miracle with the parting of the Red Sea. I tend to believe (if we keep with the literal assessment that it parted a la “The Ten Commandments”, I’ll debate that at another time, perhaps around Pesach) that the observers of the parting recognized the miracle immediately. The thing is, we still celebrate both today.

The little miracles are as entrenched in our history as the big ones. I find this thought to give great comfort in my life and I am able to find appreciation in the most minute things when viewed this way.

There is much to say on this part of Hanukkah and there have been many more people to have said it first. I found the following sites particularly interesting for various reasons:
For an explanation on why gambling is encouraged during Hanukkah even though the rest of the year it's frowned upon, see this post from hagshama.
Chabad (again I'll save my personal opinions for another time; they have a great website as usual though) has some insight with Kabbalah and Gematria here.

Hanukkah--Part I

It’s Hanukkah! [after consulting with many sources and rabbis, I have come to the conclusion that the presented spelling is the most appropriate].

What does that mean? It’s Hanukkah. It’s America. Those two together usually mean that Christmas is not far behind and that Hallmark and other corporate entities capitalize on the proximity of the two holidays. For all the fuss though, Hanukkah is actually considered minor holiday in Judaism. Minor vs major is usually separated by the level of work restrictions; there are no restrictions for this one. Greeting cards specifically for Hanukkah are almost becoming commonplace. Even Wal-mart and Safeway (and their cousin stores) sell Hanukkiot and the appropriate 45/pk of candles in traditional blue/white design. Gelt and latkes mix stocks the shelves in the kosher section of the grocery.

I find that the commercialization of these “Eight crazy nights” some how trivializes them. The games associated with the celebration as so much more than gambling. The foods so much more than tasty. The blessings so much more than words. The days so much than a celebration.

Eight parts for eight nights? We’ll see.

Love: the chocolate version

Ok, so in the last blog, I referenced chocolate twice and that is only because it felt silly to do so more times. I love chocolate. Yes, I'm aware I'm not alone, but I really LOVE chocolate. And I'm not a snob about it either. Peanut or peanut butter M&Ms rival the best foreign chocolate for me. A cookie is not a cookie without chocolate. Ice cream is just bland without it. Cake doesn't exist if it doesn't have chocolate. I am not saying that chocolate goes with absolutely everything, I am saying that things it does go with are made that much better because of it. Chocolate covered grasshoppers are a disgrace to the chocolate.
I have days where dinner doesn't have any substance to it, or chewing requirements. These are liquid dinners. I've heard that said before, in those cases though it referred to alcoholics. I am not an alcoholic. My liquid dinners are a huge mug of hot chocolate made with milk, topped with marshmallow fluff (see previous post for marshmallow fluff excitement). When I was thinking a little ethanol would be nice, I would put a shot of peppermint schnapps in my cocoa. Turns out, the peppermint is ok, it's the schnapps part that took away from the cocoa. I now have mint flavoring, just the sugar, no alcohol to taint the flavor.
And cheating breakfast foods, goodness, they are made that much better with chocolate. So, by cheating I mean stuff which is really dessert packaged nicely and called breakfast to make ourselves feel better. Cereal should be healthy (think Total or Cheerios or something like that). Or eggs/toast. Pancakes are not usually healthy. Same goes for waffles. Muffins don't count and neither does anything which is pre-packaged and goes in the toaster. I refuse to lie to myself and have a strawberry pop-tart and say at least I'm getting my fruit. And if I'm going to have a breakfast cupcake--let's be honest, that's all a muffin is--it's going to have chocolate. Chocolate chip pancakes, chocolate chip waffles, no syrup needed. Donuts? Are you kidding? What is the point of having jelly filled one? No, it should be covered in chocolate, if not also a chocolate base. Unhealthy snack foods should have chocolate too. Rice-crispy treats (with the aforementioned marshmallow fluff of course, don't knock it till you try it) are that much better and indulgent with chocolate melted inside or/and melted on top. Trail mix, chex mix, yep them too, better with chocolate. Can you imagine trail mix without M&Ms? Disgrace. Can even take healthy foods and elevate them to the next level. I also really like my bananas and apples. Chocolate dipped (perhaps frozen too) bananas are a treat.
I love my chocolate. I never have to debate what dessert to order unless between two chocolate ones at a restaurant. I will make cookies without it, but only for other people, I put aside my own emotions in those cases. I have been known to eat chocolate frosting, with no medium, such as a cupcake. Even my tea has chocolate flavor.
I love chocolate. I will not call myself an addict. Because that means I am admitting there is a problem, and I really see no problem. I will not quit chocolate. I love it and it loves me. We will be happy for a very long time. Please don't judge. I love chocolate and that's that.

what is love?

Thank you to Haddaway for use of their song as title to this post.
I tend to think that many of us out there are not easily capable of defining love. For the purpose of this, I am referring to all kinds of love, the caveat being that both subject and object are human (I could go on a rave about how much I love chocolate and maybe some other time I will, for now I'll stick to people).

Perhaps this is something people figure out really young and I am just that far behind the times. Perhaps this is something no on figures out and I'll be a millionaire. Probably, somewhere in between. I don't yet have conciseness or really even a thesis, just some thoughts.

So, what is love? And I don't mean the actions or thoughts that a person has for someone they love. For example, when something good happens to me, there are a couple people I just can't wait to tell. Same goes for something not so good. We'll help them move, again. We'll help clean their kitchen, again. Etc. But what is it?

I think it is everything. Not that I mean to say that the Beatles were right--'All you need is love'--no, just that love is a culmination of everything.

I respect strangers. I admire leaders. I like my acquaintances. I enjoy the company of some. I, well, I could just go on. Love though is a combination of all of these things. Someone I love will be someone I respect, admire, like, enjoy, etc. They may not be the best at every category, but they are in every category. And because that is so rare, it is cherished that much more.

What we do and how we act and what we think can be different with each person this is manifested in.
I do want to add that communication is usually a good requirement. And the ability to be truthful with someone and say what you want and what you need. And to be able to be mad and know they will be there and so will you.

I know I initially said this was human-human, as I write it though, I wonder if it can be expanded to feeling beings. (again, this eliminates chocolate, darn). Take my cats for example. My young, fat one, Ryno, sometimes does some not nice things, like hits me. So I sternly tell him 'no' and he goes and pouts. Then he comes back to me and we make up and everything is ok.

Would this apply to God? Do all of these qualities I've listed and all the ones I left out, do they apply? Is it reciprocal?
I don't have a formed enough response and for now I think these work better as rhetorical questions.

If you haven't thought about really what is love, perhaps you will start and perhaps you will be able to have an ah-ha moment like I did and perhaps you will share that with someone.

Religious Jewelry

Unless it is something you are looking for, I don’t believe most people notice it. Especially here in Colorado, people sporting crosses around their necks is nearly commonplace. They come in a variety of sizes, shapes, colors, metals, etc. More permutations than one can really fathom exist.

On my first trip to Israel, many of thepeople I was with wore something religious. There was a multitude of mogen david; a handful of hamsas, and a smattering of other. If my memory serves, few necks went unadorned. One young Israeli woman asked me why I wore it. At that time it seemed like a silly question. I wanted other people to recognize that not only was I not Christian (no cross) but I was Jewish (star of David). That was a foreign concept to her. Everyone she interacted with was Jewish—it was Israel after all.

I’ve had nearly three years to re-evaluate that question. Most days I wear one of my three necklaces which bear the star of David. I find I play with it when I’m thinking. Or when I am remembering. Or when I need to remember. Or when I’m happy. I recall its presence many times a day. In my evaluations, I have found that I have changed my outlook nearly completely. The necklace is not for other people, it is for me. This is similar to what I mentioned previously about skirts. Not only am I publicly declaring my religion, I am also constantly reminding myself.

Recently I received another piece of jewelry. This time it’s a bracelet. In English, it is has the main six words of the Sh’ma translated. Then in Hebrew it is the entire first part of the sh’ma and her blessings. The shape is a Mobius strip connected. The symbolism represented just in structure is in itself a lengthy analysis discussion, so for now it will be put on the back burner.

“Bind them as a sign upon your hand”. And there it is, on my hand. Because it doesn’t have a clasp (which would ruin design elements), it is not a snug fit on my wrist, luckily just big enough to fit over my fist. As I am walking or writing or moving in any way, there it is—sliding back and forth very noticeably. A sign to everyone—most especially to me. This is taking tefillin to a whole new level; it’s only worn during scheduled davening.

I am reminded of l’shon hora, modesty, faith, tradition, modernity, and the list goes on. I am reminded of the things Judaism is to me.

I proudly put on as a sign upon my hand my new bracelet for all to see and for me to remember.

Adventures of a Wannabe Rabbinical School Student--part I

Subset blog, or a blog within a blog. I was just reading about Nachman of Breslov (one of the foremost Hasidic Masters) and one of his skills was telling tales in tales, sometimes to the point where the reader would forget the initial tale. [maassiot betoch massiot : tales within tales]. That was really just an aside though, a segway into saying that I will begin a new thread: Adventures of a wannabe rabbinical student.

Yep, I said it--I want to be a rabbinical school student, with the end goal of being ordained as a rabbi leading to a congregational pulpit post. Phew, that's a mouthful and a lofty/longterm goal. I say longterm because the very beginning of the final stage would occur in July 2015, just under seven years from now, after I turn 34. Thirty-four seems distant, not old, just distant.
How did this come about? Wish I knew. In one sense it has been an easy decision, in another, the hardest ever. Self-confidence and self-doubt wage battles on the inside. On second thought, I don't think I really want to go into the how at this moment, I'll save that for another entry. Because right now, I made the decision and it's those little things which have begun to plague my head. And some of them are not so little.
Which school? I am a reform Jew, I know this. I cannot be a rabbi in the orthodox realm, I choose not to be in the conservative one. Reconstructionist and renewal aren't a complete fit. So as far as the major movements are concerned, reform is the way to go. I can obtain ordination at two different schools though--well two schools, four campuses. The first is the most obvious, HUC (Hebrew Union College, the reform movements official college). They offer three campuses: NY, LA, and Cincinnati. I am not an LA girl, just not. I realize that is where my parents grew up and even where I was born. It just doesn't feel right though. And New York, there is so much to say about NY; I will just leave it at that it too just doesn't feel right. And although I know nothing of the city and have no preconceived stereotype notions of the place, that leaves Cincinnati. I can say I have a preference, ultimately, the decision is up to the college which campus I go to. The other school is Hebrew College, in Boston. The school considers itself transdenominational. Though I believe I can get a specific ordination if I so choose. Since it is my intent to apply in Sept/Oct 2009 for admission in August 2010, I have over a year to choose which school is a better fit. This will be an interesting process making this determination.

I would remiss to say that I was not thinking about finances. Over $80k just in tuition coupled with the inability to hold a full time job, leads to great concerns over cost. And seeing as how I have not won the lottery or married a millionaire, I think it's only normal to be taking financial worry seriously.

Some of the other little things include my cats. Pets have a unique place in our hearts and my two cats are no exception. My girl is old, very old, she's just nearly 20yrs (in human years--that's like 130yrs in cat years). I've had her since she was kitten, effectively my whole life. And my fat boy is 7.5yrs. Both schools have a year-in-Israel program. What do I do with them then? Could they withstand the travel trauma? Would they be let in the country at all? Would they be safe in a country where stray cats are more numerous than people it seems?

Of course friends and family are high on the list too. Going away for school, not knowing if I'll come back at its completion is daunting. I'm going to miss my nephew's first day at school, and most of his elementary school years. That just doesn't seem right. And what do I do about my best friends? I can barely go a week without seeing them or talking at length with them; I can't imagine being in a different state (let alone another country) as them.

And my rabbis. Yes, they are mine. I think I spoke of this at some point; let me re-cap. In Israel last year a friend talked about his rabbi, the person he would talk to about everything. The person he went to when he was troubled and when he needed guidance. The person who's opinion carried more weight than most. I have that. I have that twice over. Granted I have had teachers my entire life. My undergraduate research professor, Dr. Edgar Civitello , being the closest to a mentor. Ms. Lewis in high school, she was my biology teacher and my friend. When I say it these days, there is a tremendous amount of weight I give that title. He is my teacher. And it is I who feels the privilege to say that I am the student. That relationship will not cease, it will morph. Who isn't nervous for a bit of change?
And that is where much of the trepidation comes from: change.

I must remember in the months ahead that I am still here. I must continue to foster the relationships I have and to lead the life I know as is. Adding a few hours of Hebrew study a week, add some shadowing, add some extra reflecting, add some formality to study. That's all I am going to do: add.

So stay tuned for another installment of a likely random thought-download as this adventure takes off.

s-l-o-w down for autumn

It's September, did anyone notice where August went? Many of the blogs I follow seem like they too took a hiatus for the month. Is it because it is too hot to think? Too many things going on to slow down for a moment and collect thoughts cohesively? (which this is clearly not). The mentality that summer is coming to a close and we need to squeeze every last drop of sunshine out of it before remembering to buy another ice scraper and mittens.
As I got into my car this morning in my usual attire of a skirt and sandals, I shivered. Not just a twitch or momentary chill, oh no, this was enough to warrant turning on my heater in the car for a few minutes. Granted this was at 4a, but still. I was not ready to turn my thermostat from cold to hot. My body unwilling to make the opposite transition from hot to cold. Just part of the season I suppose.
I thought it cool (Jew-nerd alert) that this September and this Elul have the same days. So today is the fourth of Sept and it's also the fourth of Elul. The new moon happened on the first. I don't know how often that happens and I'm having difficulty finding out. I'm sure there is a mathematical formula which will give me the answer easily; it's finding that formula which is the fun challenge (math-nerd alert).
And ah, yes, Elul. What a month. The time to begin thinking about Rosh HaShanah before you open the Machzor. When the white is everywhere in the shul. Where people start to come back from all over, or from just down the street.
Interesting how the time for reflection is the same time of year that we change from summer to autumn. I say this because it feels natural to contemplate at this time. When the leaves start to change, slowly; when the days get shorter, slowly; when the air starts to chill; slowly.
For me, autumn is quiet transition, a slow, careful, thoughtful, one. We remember to slow down too. Either our memories or our children bring up that sense of wonder with the starting of school. We stop rushing from camp to camp or from one trip to another, from one summer adventure to the next. We begin to comfortably settle into a routine.
I was just thinking about food too. Many of the autumn foods take a while to cook. Squash is best eaten cooked, not raw, and they take quite some time in the oven if patience is given to them. Autumn pies, like apple or pumpkin or pecan, take a while. Ginger cookies and molasses ones too take time.
Correlating this to Elul, I am able to find parallels. Just like food takes patience, so too do we. In a time for reflection and repentance, remembering to be patient with each other, and ourselves. Just as the leaves don't change overnight, neither do we. Just as pies take a little more thoughtfulness, so too do relationships. Just as the air doesn't snap on the cold, neither should we.
In this time of slow transition, take those moments to reflect and contemplate and let the air around us be the guide to the space within us.

The 3 weeks and Tisha B'Av

Let me first start out by saying that I am not a superstitious person in general. This does not preclude ideas of intentional coincidence or accidents or even parallelism. Also, my knowledge and general practice of these times is currently very elementary.
The basics of these days can be found and understood from a historical point of view rather nicely on wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tisha_B%27av and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_three_weeks). Even here events other than the temple destruction are listed as happening on this same day. I will get to that in a moment.
The three weeks are supposed to be the time between the breach of the walls to the destruction. Each haftorot potion successively gets a little more grim, and the mourning increases in a near exponential fashion. We go from a minor (sunrise to nightfall) fast to a major one (sunset to nightfall). And the restrictions (or at least minhag restrictions) increase. Weddings, haircuts not being permissible in the three weeks; then music, then meat in the nine days; then sitting akin to shiva in the meal preceding the fast. Whew, this is heavy stuff. Just listing some things is gateway to mourning.
In years past I had a hard time connecting with this period, esp from a temple destruction p-o-v. And as stated, not being the superstitious type, the elevating of mourning hadn't made sense either.
Well, I have not had a great week to put it mildly. And those around me have had very crappy weeks too. In my small circle, my limited realm, I have seen destruction on all fronts. Car (and the ensuing financial) trouble, job loss, home caught on fire (because of exploding water heater) and all those ramifications, hospice status, start of chemotherapy, two different sets of hearts being broken (and all the lives that effects). It's been a bad week. Every time the phone rang, I almost dreaded it today. This was supposed to be my shabbat: day of rest, day of peace. Certainly there were some of those elements, but the overall tone was grief.
Is this what it means to increase sorrow? Is this just the beginning as there are still two weeks to go before Tisha B'Av?
If I attempt to put myself in the context of say a thousand years ago when already a millenia had past since the destruction of the temple and dispersion of the Jews, I get a glimmer of the fear. The first crusades were thought to begin this day too (though it's probably more likely that they started a few months later) (for an in-depth view leading to the start, which also indicated November see: http://www.deremilitari.org/RESOURCES/ARTICLES/magdalino.htm).
The Spanish expulsion comes a little closer (1492) and the English expulsion (1290) may have occurred on this day (http://www.britainexpress.com/History/medieval/expulson-jews.htm). It's easy to add to an existing pity party.
On the one hand, knowing that this is a bad time of year, is it easier to accept misfortune? (That could be a tremendous euphemism). Then again, on the other, doesn't adding to previous tragedy dilute to some extent both?
Tying this in to my contemporary setting and most recent events, I tend to think the latter is more the case. My friend who had a very serious apartment fire is not so concerned with my other friend's broken heart. The person who lost a job frets little over someone else's car repair bill.
I want to think this is the same on the much larger scale of mourning the destruction of the temple. The day is set for that. Tisha B'Av is a day to commemorate the loss the second temple, the day the Jews lost their holy land, the day Judaism would never be the same. I want to honor that. I want to focus only on that while still recognizing that other bad things happen on the same day. [Statistically speaking, there are only 383--ok that's a discussion for the Jewish calendar, but it's just used as an example here--days, and there have been 5768 years; clearly there will be overlap of tragedy].
I want to say that Tisha B'Av is special enough, significant enough, to stand on its own. I do not need multiple calamities to feel the depth of the day. One horror is sufficient. And I am sure those who suffer their own personal woes might would agree.

Goal

My goal this summer: learn how to blog.
No seriously, there is an art to it. Which things to hyperlink to; what other blogs that I read linked to; pictures; topics; and then just the writing itself. How to come to terms with a public sphere when these are my thoughts. What information or opinions or whathave you to divulge? How much editing or selecting do I do? And does there need to be a focus? Like this is a political blog--clearly this is not the case. Or a religious one, or a light-hearted only one, or .... the options are endless. I think these were my original questions which is probably why this is called, randomness. Fits.
So anyway, as my knight is nearly here on his trusty steed, I will leave this as is and try over the next few weeks to teach myself this new-age art form.

uncontrollable car madness

Like many of my fellow Denverites, I drive my car, a lot. Luckily I have a small sedan which gets ~35mpg. This is great at the gas pump, though when I reached nearly $60 for a fill up, I did have some sticker shock. My gas budget is around $200/mnth, give or take. Seems like a lot; considering it could be double if I drove one of those SUV's that my neighbors have, it's not terrible. Well, this was not intended to be a rant on the price of gas, you can find that anywhere.
I'm decently smart, I can figure things out. Mechanical issues don't scare me. I know nothing about cars. It just looks like a piece of fancy plastic and metal. I know where to put the gas in, the windshield wiper fluid, and where to check the dipstick for engine oil. As frugal as I am, I pay someone to change my oil. Cars have just never been a fascination point for me. I like to look at pretty ones, I admire the fast ones, I drive one. I have been known to play up my 'girl-card' for car stuff.
I drove my car like normal this past weekend in the heat. No issues to speak of.
I drive my car to work on Sunday morning and a few miles away I notice an odd noise (keep in mind, I have no sense of smell, so I have no idea if there is an odor coming from the hood too). I keep driving. About a mile away, there is a loud noise accompanied by steam. Steam is not to be confused with smoke. Smoke is grey-ish and bad, very bad. What I had was steam, white/clearish stuff which is just water getting too hot and condensing to a gas. Not so bad, not good, but again, not so bad.
Realizing that after driving 25min, the car was going to be hot and the last thing I needed was a burn. I strolled inside and began working. An hour later a co-worker asked how I was and I said something briefly about my car.
Enter damsel in distress and the attempt of a knight in shining armor, followed not far behind by a rival knight. Who is brave enough to tempt the steam-throwing dragon which is spewing hot chemicals?
The mouth of the beast was pried open and a hiss and a sputter attacked the valiant knights. They tried to sooth the beast with elixir (radiator fluid). Momentarily pacified, they triumphantly went back to work, strutting the whole way.
When it came my time to get her going again, she was furious. Less than five minutes into it, the steam was raging and the engine was roaring. I tried pulling heat from her to alleviate strain to little avail. By the time we got home, we were both so exhausted it was all I could do to reign her in.
What does this all mean?
I drove home when it was 100F outside and I had my heater turned on full blast. Talk about misery. I didn't even have to pay for that sauna treatment, pore-cleansing experience.
Basically, after investigation and a few minor burns (the same ones I had earlier wanted to avoid), I found out that my radiator had a 2" crack in it. This knowledge came to me at 5:30 PM on a Sunday. Guess what isn't open? That's right, repair shops. I had to be at work at 5 AM--not going to happen.
With much investigation and some stress and feeling so little, I managed to find a repair shop close enough not to need a tow that said they could get the work done today. I'm tempted to believe them, though they have yet to prove themselves one way or the other.
Currently I have not a clue as to why my radiator developed a crack, a sizable one at that. Car only has 75k miles on it. Sometimes, things like this just happen.
And my third knight is on his way to take me around my castle so I don't disappoint my village. [he's helping me run invaluable errands].
Chivalry is not dead, though my car might be.

Freedom of religion

A conversation keeps cropping up recently to which no one has an answer and yet everyone has an opinion. It is a question which has very personal impact as well as an international one. Modern in origin, this question fuels heated discussions.

Who is a Jew?

Well, someone who's Jewish. Ok, so who's Jewish? This requires defines what it means to be Jewish. When did this question get so complicated? I know a variety of Jewish people, who proudly call themselves Jewish, and other than the statement, there doesn't exist a common thread.
A person born of an orthodox Jewish mother is Jewish. A person who has an approved conversion is Jewish. What about the rest of us?

Approved conversion: approved by whom? The Israeli Beit Din/Chief Rabbinate is comprised only of middle-aged/retired orthodox men. In 2006, there was a proposal by Shlomo Amar (current Chief Sephardic rabbi), to remove the conversion clause in the Law of Return. By suggesting this, people who convert cannot come to Israel as citizens and would have to go through the arduous process of naturalization.
Law of Return, a side note. Implemented after the creation of Israel to allow those of Jewish descent to obtain Israeli citizenship, simply because they were Jewish. Let the battle begin. Matrilineal descent vs. either; orthodox vs. other; convert vs. bloodline; secular vs. religious. Who can live in Israel as a citizen, who can own land, who can marry and divorce, who can be buried where, and the list goes on.
For ease of discussion then, assume that the question in Israel is not of immediate or personal importance, and the question only applies at home, is it easier to answer then?
Simplistically, yes. Simultaneously, no.

Under the hierarchy of halachah, only conversions as stringent as your own or moreso are recognized. Meaning, a Reform rabbi will recognize a person who converted with a Conservative rabbi. This same person would not be recognized by an Orthodox rabbi. [I am setting the hierarchy as such: Orthodox, Conservative, Reconstruction, Reform, Renewal.]
Those born of a Jewish mother need not question. Those born of a Jewish father have a different story all together. Officially, the orthodox and conservative movements do not recognize patrilineal descent. Reform, Renewal, and Reconstructionist do. The conversion process is necessary for the two former branches.
I find my family to be an interesting case study for me (plus I'm closely tied to the issue here).
My father is born of a Jewish mother, and is therefore Jewish. My mother is not Jewish. So what am I? What is my sister? Are we the same?

Answered personally to reflect a broader ideological view. Since I was a child, I knew I was Jewish. On the very rare occasion pork products would be brought into the house, I would refrain. So would my dad. My sister and mom would enjoy. Growing up in a secular household (that's putting it mildly), and living in a city that is dominated by conservative Christians, I struggled with understanding my place. My sister on the other hand seemed comfortable. I don't believe she ever identified herself as Jewish, certainly not as an adult. At this very moment, I don't believe (I could be wrong), that she would be recognized in the Reform tradition as Jewish. Hypothetically, if she were to ever explore that side of her and then decide that Judaism was the way to go for her, then she would be accepted-no conversion necessary.

I had made the decision years and years ago; acted on it about 3.5yrs ago. I was welcomed with open arms into the community, without question. I am born of patrilineal descent, I say I am a Jew, and I am. My sister is born of patrilineal descent, says she's not a Jew, and is not. Conversion or ex-communication not required.
This then combines the idea of bloodline with spiritual identification, both being required. In America, as a reform Jew, I can then do anything in this movement I want. If I were to choose a different lifestyle and become orthodox, I would have to convert. Bringing back in the Israeli influence, if I wanted to move to Israel, as it stands now, I could under the Law of Return, which still allows for a ¼ bloodline (both my dad’s parents were Jewish). Other life-cycle events would have to be looked at as they occurred, though I believe that I could not marry there, as no orthodox rabbi would perform the ceremony and there is no such thing as a civil ceremony. Marriages originating in other countries are legal and recognized—one of the reasons Israelis travel to Cyprus to marry and then come back. I diverge.

There is much work to be done and not necessarily with the goal of getting answers or hard-line decisions. The goals are of communication, comprehension, cohesion. I will have much more to say on this as time passes.

What I haven’t done here is say how these different definitions impact Jewish relationships. How does another Jew see me? How do I see them? I will save these for another time. For now let me say that I am so thankful that I had the power to choose and the bloodline to support my choice. I feel I have true freedom of religion.

All skirts, All the time

I asked for skirts with pockets and the other day I saw them at Target. I had to buy the style in each color (good thing there were only three types). I asked for longer skirts so that I wouldn’t have to wear leggings in the boiling lab—today it was 88F. And on a whim I stopped in at Ross, which I haven’t been to in almost two years, and there they were, four perfectly fitting long skirts. Retail therapy hit a whole new definition.

In the States, we have a certain dress standard which applies to particular groups. And through that dress, a message can be conveyed about the person if they choose. Take for example, professional men usually wear suits and ties (Boulder being a very notable and unique exception). Jeans and tee-shirts are the norm for students. Slacks and polos for casual workers, etc. Here, we identify dress with profession.

Granted, clothes can certainly be an outlet for personal expression. And if outside the perceived norm, judgments will be cast. Take for example the people who sport baggy, low hanging black pants, black tee-shirt, and a long trench coat. This is outside societal norm. Onlookers might make assumptions that this person is not mature, is a troublemaker, possibly does drugs, had a difficult home life. And who knows what of that would be true.

Perhaps it’s human nature to instantly judge, from primitive times when we had to be able to assess a situation rapidly or it could cost lives. Or maybe it’s that we want others to see an aspect of our personality before meeting. This is potentially a chicken/egg debate and as a tangent from my intended topic, one which will be put on hold for another time.

Jerusalem has a different reason for their dress code, a religiously based one. I specifically point out this city in Israel because I did not heed tremendous attention to it elsewhere and this is where I spent the majority of my time. The clothes you wear indicate which branch of Judaism you follow, or which one you don’t. From the length of skirts and shirts, to the material of head coverings and shoes, outward appearance is taken extremely seriously by many. Even those who are unaware of these not-so-silent rules are judged by them. Ankle length skirt, full coverage shirt, closed toed shoes, without a doubt frum, practicing tzinuit (modesty) and maybe even shomer negia. (A woman) in pants, general tee-shirt, and sandals, is clearly secular. Don’t get me started on a someone in shorts and a tank-top.

What happens when a particular dress code just doesn’t fit a particular style of Judaism? And, since I am writing this from Colorado, how does this apply here, if at all?

Since returning September 2007, I have not put on a pair of pants in public. I put it that way because I just cannot give up lounging in my pajama bottoms on my weekends. What first came about from trying to understand, to put my initial reaction aside, has blossomed into so much more than I ever anticipated.

Women here do not wear skirts much. That is especially true in the winter. Chemists do not wear skirts. People who wear skirts do not pair them with steel-toed shoes. Reform Jews do not wear skirts (out of religious mentality). I have found that I have been asked to explain myself to so many different groups, to defend myself to a variety of people. I obliged more for myself than for them.

Many people wanted me to just say I did it for religious reasons, but I couldn’t. In the Torah, it says that men shouldn’t dress as women or vice versa. This day and age, men don’t wear skirts and they are typically seen as women’s clothing. If it were the opposite, then I’d be in pants. The religious aspect then is that I am showing that I am woman and not a man. I took this idea and went with it. In college I dressed very androgynously; jeans and a baggy tee-shirt. My first job too, in ill-fitting navy scrubs. Then something happened and I began to shop in the ladies department. I bought high heels and fitted tops and jewelry. And I began to embrace my femininity. Rather than looking at it as a negative aspect to me, I started to become aware of the benefits and accepting of the differences between the sexes. As usually happens when my perspective changes, I began to see people in a new way, including myself. No longer did I have to act like a man to fit in a man’s world (one of chemistry). I claimed my femininity and decided that I did not have to conform to bring value. I could bring so much more by being a woman and letting that happen as opposed to being a woman and trying to stifle that feature.

So when this new job came up and I had previously decided that I was all skirts all the time, I faced challenges.

Why do it: I am reminded that I am a woman to myself and to those I interact with; I am reminded of the tzinuit attitude—that is of modesty in the general sense not just the dress code; I am reminded of being Jewish; I am reminded to see people as individuals and not let clothes impact my view of them. Some perks I gained that I had no idea would come of this decision. I get to wear fun clothes because many skirts that I purchase are not bland but instead are vibrant. I find it hard to be blue in mood when I don on a bright pink skirt. I have to wear socks at work to cover my legs, so that part of my wardrobe has also expanded, and as I’ve said in a previous post, I like socks. Through the answering of questions, I have become more secure with me and more immune to strangers’ criticisms. Nostalgia of Jerusalem comes upon me when I walk down a windy street. A deeper connection with Judaism too has evolved, inexplicably.

For all the judgments, the teasing, the cold legs, the breezy days, the financial expense, the daily dressing struggles, the disapproving looks, the shoe dilemma, and other obstacles I have hurdled, I would not change. The gain has been much more rewarding than any of that could ever take away. And these rewards will far out last some initial minor inconveniences.

Fluffernutter sanwiches rule!

I had a slight epiphany last night which created some much needed internal peace. A friend came over for dinner yesterday. It was the first time she had come to my house, so a tour was in order. My home is pretty self-explanatory, given that there are three rooms and all--living space, bedroom, bathroom. Tour is more of a grandiose affair and gives me thrills when I do it. Anyway, little quirks aside, one of the things that I feel the need to show certain people is my kitchen utensil drawer. Odd, I know. I don't have a mass quantity of drawers in my kitchen, four to be exact. And I love to cook and love even more little utensils and fun kitchen gadgets, space at a premium or not. The idea of having to use two of these precious drawers for everyday silverware was almost more than I could take. Target to the rescue. They have a drawer insert where the forks flip and so do the spoons, so there is twice as much space for everything, using the same size footprint as traditional holders. I was ecstatic when I found and purchased it.

Why is this a big deal? Because it means I can separate out dairy from meat flatware. My small spoons are for dairy (easier for eating cereal), big for meat. The forks with holes in them are for dairy, the ones without for meat. It's a big deal because every time I open it I am reminded that I am trying to keep kosher.

Why is this a big deal? Kashrut isn't one of the top ten mitzvot (think murder, steal, shabbat, etc). I don't even know if it makes the top 25. I seem fixated on it though.
And last night I partially figured out why. Kashrut observance is tangible, visible, challenging. When I have to decide what to bring to the company potluck and I opt for kosher hotdogs and a dessert that I can eat (parve that is), it sinks in a little further. When I still crave fast food and yet only the fries (love chick-fil-a and Arby's ones, yum!) it's embedded some more. Having a parve alternative to many things that don't really need dairy products, or that even imitate dairy (think soy milk and margarine) makes cooking so much easier.

While attempting the kosher-thing, I have been altering my perspective in addition to my diet. I started the process because I didn't feel right rejecting a practice without cause, esp. considering it has been going on for millennia. And what a difference doing something does for understanding it. Until very recently I thought I was pretending. I kept looking at my kitchen and my shopping habits and thinking "I'm not really doing this am I? I'm not really going this far? Who does this (with the exclusion of our orthodox friends as a notable exception)?"

I found myself incapable of throwing out marshmallows even though I knew I wouldn't eat them after finding out they have pork gelatin in them. But it was a fight, something I held on to fiercely, that I was not going to get that crazy. I cleaned out my cupboards and finally threw them out, stale as little rocks. Just a few days later, I was in the grocery store (personal pitch--King Soopers is more accommodating to the kosher-population than Safeway, so I shop there most frequently), getting frustrated that I couldn't find spaghetti sauce that was kosher. I was looking at every brand, every variety, when I happened on Barilla's garlic type and I saw the familiar OU. A piece of me sighed. Not just in relief but in peace. There was something comforting in knowing I didn't have to make my own sauce. I happily bought four jars. And no, I don't eat that much spaghetti, but just in case they pull this off the shelf and stop selling it, I want this feeling to last.

As said earlier, I love to bake, but I don't always need things. This particular night, I didn't need to go down the bakers aisle and yet I found myself wandering that way. I had to pass the candy lane on my way there. This was depressing. A fellow kashrut participant told me not that long ago that Skittles weren't kosher. And anyone that knows me, knows this is my all time favorite candy. My 19yr cat is named after them (give me a break, I was 8 when I named her). I could feel the bitterness rising. Then the marshmallows reared their ugly tempting head. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a treat I haven't had or even thought of in years--Jet Puff Fluff, marshmallow crème. With an exasperated hand and cynical eye, I glanced at the label, with no expectation. To my utter surprise, there it was, K in a little circle. I actually clapped my hands and hugged the jar and yes, let out a tear.

Keeping kosher doesn't mean depriving myself. Keeping kosher gives me additional tools to evaluate my relationship to Judaism, Jewish people (past and present). Keeping kosher reminds me all day long that I am Jewish and that 'title' means something very dear to me. Keeping kosher is a tangible activity, a public announcement, a personal acceptance to my life. That was my epiphany.
So for now, I will continue to struggle with kashrut and all the things it symbolizes and brings up. And I will continue to find comfort in the little things like fluffernutter sandwiches.

FIRE

There exists a fire in each of us. The spark, the catalyst, the igniter being variable. For some, knowing what makes us light up is so obvious, so knowing. For others, lots of searching is required. Then there are those who happen upon it by random chance or accidental coincidence or fate. I feel as though I am a combination of these. Chemistry has been a fire in my life for so long, nearly 20yrs from the time I knew, just KNEW I had to do chemistry. This knowing only actualized itself a few years ago when I graduated college and stepped out into the 'real world'. Cliché as that sounds, it's true for me. Working in chemistry is very different than undergraduate research, very different than television shows (think CSI or NCIS), very different than the romanticized version I had constructed in my mind. Perhaps it's the job itself rather than the career that is really making me wonder whether or not this fire I felt was a quick burst, whether it was already smoldering when I happened up on it, or whether it just needs a little fanning.

And then there is a new kind of fire. The kind where I don't want to sit still, the kind where I NEED to get up and do something. The kind that begs me to throw caution to the wind. Eliminate all my practicalities and logical thoughts and just DO. Like never before I had that experience recently. I watched 'Encounter Point'. Perhaps described as a documentary about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it tells of tales from a very personal level. By parents who've lost their children. By those held prisoner. By an array of people passively fighting for peace.

Jerusalem quite possibly is the religious center of Israel. Tzfat is the mystical center of the country. Tel Aviv is the international headquarters. But what of the other cities? Like Kiryat Shmona, toeing the northern border with Lebanon. Or S'derot, which recently has been subjected to near daily bombings. And this doesn't even bring into mind the Gaza Strip or the West Bank.

Personal background. When I was a kid, I knew Israel existed--I saw it on a map and had to memorize it's location for geography. I knew that's where Jews went. Frankly, it was just some other country. As my Jewish identity began to form and grow, I felt a stronger connection with this distant land, though my knowledge was minimal at best and disgraceful in the least. I thought the West Bank and Gaza Strip were the same thing--thinking West referred to that side of Israel. I didn't understand why the two sides were fighting. Couldn't they just straight up share? And if not live peacefully as neighbors, at least go 50/50 on the land?

I've had the privilege of going there twice now, returning each time with a different perspective. I remember very clearly last summer going to a settlement town (West Bank area because by that time all Jews had been moved out of Gaza). The drive to protect those parcels of land was stronger than anything I'd ever felt. Not being interested in American military, I found myself wondering how to join the IDF; realizing that I'm too old to do so as a woman (cut off is really 20yrs, and at 27, I'm practically ancient). Plus, military aims don't mesh so well with my non-aggressive approach.

People who make aliyah do so for very different reasons. Some go and label themselves as religious. They go because Israel is the homeland to the Jews and it's holy and they feel that is where they can live a Jewish life to the fullest. Others call themselves Zionists. They may never step foot in a synagogue and they will eat a bacon cheeseburger on Yom Kippur and they will be the first in line at the enlistment office to defend their country. I fall in between, as the two views I've presented are on the extreme sides of the spectrum.

I cannot deny that I feel more religiously inclined when there. Few things compare to praying at the Western Wall (Kotel). Jerusalem day in Jerusalem seems to pack more of a punch than when celebrated in Boulder. The other side of me felt such pride in those settlements. I felt grounded and ancient and home in a completely different way on those desert lands.

After seeing the aforementioned film, I was inspired to act on these feelings. Do we just sit around and talk about these things or do we do something about them? The practical side kicked in, at least momentarily. Long enough to question what would I do there? I'm a chemist by trade, not a journalist nor a peace talker nor a moderator. How can I fit into this puzzle? What right do I have to go there and introduce a Palestinian to an Israeli and say you two should get along (and in what language since my Arabic is non-existent and my Hebrew little better than pathetic)? What suffering have I endured that can even come close in comparison to them that would lend me any respect?
And yet, it is really only the practical (and financial) part of me which is preventing me from calling El Al and booking the next flight to Tel Aviv and taking a sheruit (taxi) to Nablus, Hebron, etc.

So this fire in me which started in December 2005, roared in the summer of 2007, is only growing more intense with each passing day. With each new book I read and each new movie I watch, the fire is stoked.

Can't we all just get along?

So I just have to say that people are incredibly judgmental. For the past nine months I have been skirts-only in public (I just love my pajama bottoms too much at home to give them up). This by itself has caused certain looks from many strangers, esp in the winter when I pair it with tights or leggings and close-toed shoes--very stylish. Fashion has never been a strong point or something I've really cared about. Frankly, nor has the opinion of how other people view my dressing habits. At work I wear a variety of shirts, including t-shirts on some occasions. Keep in mind that at work I also have to wear brown steel-toed shoes. And yes, even there I wear a skirt. These days, usually coupled to knee-length thick socks so no skin shows and it is as though I was wearing pants according to our safety guy. I was feeling nostalgic and so one morning this week I put on my yeshiva t-shirt. On the front it says "Ani *heart* talmud torah", but written with hebrew characters. The back has a few things in Hebrew too and gives a plug for the yeshiva. I guess I looked a little odd. Each element on their own was fine, put together a little mismatched, I admit. Then again, it was something I was comfortable in and something which fit my mood and something I was accustomed to. Sometimes I forget that not everyone feels the same way. A few people at my work are not at all surprised by my attire any more and don't even pay attention. Being a lab rat, I don't see many of the office staff. The 'outside guys' are in gray uniforms and yellow tyvek suits daily and well, are guys, and hardly notice what I wear unless it is something somewhat fancy (which is rare working with chemicals and all).
A little background--I work in Commerce City at a hazard waste facility. Very blue collar. Very Christian-ish. For many of the guys, I'm the first Jew they've met. (side note: I try to take that role pretty seriously and represent as best I can. I try to use education to alleviate ignorance and uncomfortableness. And a smile and willingness and openness to talk). Anyway, on this particular day I wandered into the office area more times than usual. I got so many non-verbal disapprovals I was a little shocked. The shirt had a red heart on it and someone said "your shirt says you love new york". I was little on edge so it wasn't great to get teased, but I basically blew it off.
Since it is Pesach and that means I'm eating a lot more fruits and vegetables than usual (the original atkins diet I think), I had to go to the store that evening and buy some more fresh produce. I forgot to change out of my work shoes, but otherwise looked as I normally would and felt just fine walking into a store. No reason for embarrassment. I have many mixed feelings about what came next. The looks I received earlier in the day alerted me that I stood out a little; they were only looks. People too shy or fearful of confrontation to say anything. This was not the case when I walked into a store (in keeping with my idea of l'shon hora, I will not divulge information about the person or the place, except to say it was located near where I work). Someone yelled out "Go back to your own country, we don't want you here." I was intentionally run into from behind with someone's cart and when I looked back I rec'd a look that said, "Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it? So I hit you, you deserved it" The eyes, the head bobble, the stance with the hand on the hip. I had no need for words to understand their meaning.
I was really hurt and offended and shocked and frightened and saddened and angry and combative and vulnerable and volatile and humbled and proud and thankful. Amazing how many emotions I went through while checking out my "10 items or less". No words were exchanged between myself and cashier--none whatsoever. I've had some time to digest this event and it is settling with me about as well as matzah.

I don't understand--I feel like a little kid when I say that. Or when I hear in my head "Why are people so mean?" I'm whisked back to my childhood. Just because I don't dress the same. Just because I know a language other than English and show that. Just because I love being Jewish and am not ashamed to hide it. Just because I am an eclectic dresser. I am judged. Just because.

(this has inspired me to really put down my thoughts on skirts and visual identifications. for now it's late and I'm tired; I hope to get to that in a couple days)

Until then, shabbat shalom a tad early. I hope it is one of peace and wholeness. I know it will be a struggle for me this time.

Failure/Success, Personal freedom

Are we more afraid of success or failure? Do most people not even try because they fear they will fail or do they not try because they fear achievement in something new?

Usually the now is comfortable. It may not be perfect and there is probably a lot of complaining that goes on, but it is comfortable. There is a lot of effort needed to try something new.
I write these things from a very direct perspective. I've done comfortable and it's nice, for a while. These days I am able to know when I am getting stagnant and then I have the opportunity to question whether or not that is where I want to be. Sometimes there isn't anything wrong with a little stagnation.

In a couple weeks I am going to really break out of the comfort zone on so many levels. I'm not so immovable right now that this is such a jolt to the system. It is such a dramatic shift though that I am a tad uneasy.
One way I calm my nerves is preparation. If I feel I'm prepared and that I am ready for what I expect to be the unexpected (can we really prepare for the 'unexpected', otherwise isn't it expected, albeit improbable?). I am finding sources to help me, from the internet to the library, from friends to learned scholars--dead and alive. And the nerves slowly dissipate, especially as I reassure myself that failure isn't an option. Not because I am such a perfectionist, far from it in fact. Because I am human and flaw is part of my character. If I know going in I have given it my all, failure just isn't.

Granted there are varying degrees of success. And it is these higher levels of success which I first wrote about. Do my nerves really stem from not doing well or from doing too well? What if I find that I not only really enjoy this new endeavor, but also excel at it? What does that mean for the place I am currently? Can I honestly allow myself to suppress these new findings just because it is different? Boldly going where I have never gone before, at least not really. Kind of like when someone asks you if you've been to a certain state and you had a short lay-over in the main airport there, does that really count as having visited the state? That is what this feels like to me in a bizarre analogy.

The unknown is so scary. I find it interesting that I am thinking about these things just as Pesach is upon me/us. Here is my connection to my ancestors, in a very abstract way. They left Mitzrayim after a few hundred years because comfortable became too tragic to bear and someone, Moshe, gave them the push to overcome inertia. And suddenly they find themselves seemingly alone wandering the desert wondering what is next, questioning the decision to leave—oh how quickly we forget. Sure Mitzrayim was icky and all, and endless manna is nice, but what next. Once we find why we’re wandering, how do we approach it? Once I say, I am done stagnating and I flounder a bit, where do I end up? The unknown should not cause paralysis, I should not be (and will not be) held hostage by my fears. I find that this might be the ultimate in personal freedom.

Church bell

I moved into my current place in November. I instantly loved the apartment, or maybe it was the idea that once again I would have a place to call completely my own that I loved. It felt so adult, so sophisticated with hardwood floors, black and stainless-steel appliances, high ceilings with crown molding. I felt so abundant. Little things like not having any closet space (no really, I have one very small clothes closet and nothing else), and a triangular room and a bedroom with eight corners were easily overseen. I am within walking distance of an excellent Asian Bistro (called Zen), super delicious. There is a yoga studio which attracts very snooty people close by too. I can look out my window and see the mountains. There were many positives.

In my quest for deeper Jewish understanding, I knew that this home would be an experiment. No one to prevent me from keeping kosher or to give me flack when I broke down and ate a cheeseburger. Only my alarm knowing if I really got up in time to do shachrit by myself; and only the walls to know if I was close to pronouncing the words correctly. Hebrew is hard enough, let alone at 5a, after very little sleep. These things I would do, I would try and I would give myself a break because as long as I was giving it my all, I could hardly ask more of myself. Fine, dandy, I can deal. And I can deal with most any of these things--except church.

When I came to see exactly which apt I was getting, I had a sinking feeling it would be this one. I'm on the corner of the property, just as you enter. (side note, this location in a complex seems very typical for me, eerie coincidences). Across the street, just outside my west facing window is a church. A white church that is trying to decide if it is new or old. It's new construction, with an old feel. I don't quite know how to describe it. It's also trying to give a small town impression, at least based on the exterior design. Every Sunday, the streets around my home fill up with church-goers. Some are friendly, some are not; most just go un-noticed by me and me by them. I'd hear the bell and it would be a twinge, a very audible reminder that I still in Colorado, a very dominant Christian society. For a while I would try to imagine the bell being the Shabbat bell in Jerusalem, letting the population know that it was the Sabbath. Or even the Muslim call to prayer which I heard when I lived right next to the old city seemingly constantly. My attempts failed-it was a church bell. I got a little relief actually when I started to work on Sundays; I'm out of my house before the newspaper is on my doorstep. But every day I drive home and I see it. I sit outside, and I face it. I was clearly experiencing a little bitterness (ok, more than a little).

Honestly, that all changed today. As I said before, it's a small church, in a small suburb of Denver (town of a thousand churches). I don't know what size their congregation is but I can imagine, small. I was sitting outside ready through the Mishkan T'filah after work when I heard a lot of commotion. I presumed there was a function there when I drove up because I couldn't find any parking. I tried to ignore it, feeling my bitterness starting to emerge. They were just so loud. There was no way I could concentrate. Finally, I just put the sidur down and began watching all the excitement. I wish I could say that reading the sidur enlightened me and brought my guard down, but I don't think that was the case. The first thing I saw was a dove. Then a flower girl, in the most adorable white and pink dress, throwing presumably rose petals to the wind. She giggled when they came back to her face and tickled her nose. Family members and friends and all sorts of ecstatic people came flooding out the doors in sheer merriment. The bridal party formed a line for the bride and groom to walk under, just like the movies. In another scene from classic romantic movies, the couple got in a roadster and drove off into the sunset--veil waving in the wind, pop cans clanking down the street pronouncing to all the union just formed. And I was there. I don't know them, I'll probably never see them again and wouldn't recall their faces if I did. But I was there. The moment two lives merged. The moment where 1 + 1 = 1 (or infinity, depending how you look at it). I feel honored to live next to this. I hope that spring and summer are filled with weddings at this quaint little church next door. And just like that, my bitterness dissipated and gave way to appreciation.

real randomness: simplicity and happiness (and toe socks)

I love toe socks! No really, they’re amazing. When I put them on, my toes get to wiggle and worm inside them. I look down and see my toes dancing. I feel each one individually in my shoes. They come in so many colors and styles. It can be my own little secret or I can share it with people. I love toe socks. And carnations. They are so over looked as flowers. A single carnation in a vase, a simple vase says so much. Come in a variety of colors. Unpretentious, unassuming, low maintenance, and always there. The color red, I love the color red too. My kitchen has a red teapot, spoon ladle, toaster, blender, crock-pot, grill, utensil holder, potholders, dishtowels, and even tupperware. My closet has shirts, skirts, and shoes all in varying shades of red. Sheets, blankets, and towels too. I love fun words. Like onomatopoeia and alliteration. Or defenestrate and oxymoronic. Or saboteur said in a snooty faux french accent. I love lightning and rainbows. When the two come together the sum is greater than the individual parts. The crash of the lightning. Few things excited my sense quite like a thunderstorm. My ears are delighted by the loudness of the thunder. My eyes blinded by the brightness and the sudden flashes. My skin tickled as droplets of water dance on in an impromptu symphony. The air so clean and fresh renews my lungs. (And I’ve heard it smells great, but this I unfortunately have to just believe).

Why mention these things? They all make me smile, even just sitting here typing this, I smile at the mention of them all and grin at them collectively. In addition to this effect, another thread which binds them is simplicity. Surrounding myself with things that cause me to smile and recognizing the same ones are simple, I then translate this to other areas of my life. I strive to engulf myself with good-hearted people. People who when I think about them I smile and then grin when I get to see them. People who know how to make me laugh and giggle and be happy when I’m blue and when I’m not blue even more so. When I bake it brings me back to imagined simpler times. Life is so chaotic and fast paced and intense these days. It’s nice to slow down and look around and see simplicity, see things that make me smile too.

It’s nice to recognize simplicity and bring it in wherever I can because life just isn’t. Decisions are not simple, even those made on a daily basis. So I am astonished and pleased when one is easy. I walked into a furniture store today intending to buy a dinning table. I had an idea—cherry finish, pub height—with little practical structure in mind. I walked in and saw it, and knew I’d be walking out of there with it (rather, with the delivery paperwork because they will set it up for me and that’s way cool). I still walked throughout the entire store, even thought about going to another one, to do my due diligence, but I already knew. Recently I have been meeting a wide variety of people in an eclectic way (Israel, shul, work, friends of friends, etc). Some of them I am friendly with and can carry on a decent conversation. Then there are a few which stand out and who I just gravitate toward. The decision to become friends is almost non-existent and instantaneous.

In a very different context my dad once said, “if you have to force it, you’re doing it wrong.” I doubt he realizes how profound and long-lasting that statement has been for me. It’s in these moments of realization that I believe it is all really that simple and I just choose to find complexity in situations. These situations are made all the harder when something comes along and is so right, doesn’t feel forced in the least.

I can only hope that by surrounding myself with simplicity and things that make me smile, each day I will be presented with more things which fit this category. Finding a career in which the paycheck is just the reward and not the goal. Meeting that person with whom conversation flows like a waterfall and whose presence feels like a thundershower—invigorating all the senses.

I will now go and sit on my microfiber suede couch in my toe socks looking at a single carnation in a simple vase and continue writing to my heart’s content because these things make me happy.

Nine more days

My count down actually began a bit ago but as it is only next Saturday, I have been gearing up for Pesach. In so many ways I am gearing up. My coworkers and friends/family are noticing because they are on the receiving end of chametz removal in the form of baked goods. So many cookies and cupcakes and muffins have been coming out of my oven recently, it's amazing how much 10lbs of flour can make. I'm carb-loading most nights with pasta and rice; cereal every morning and for snacks. Went to the grocery store to load up on meat because that will be a staple for eight days, as will eggs. This is the original Atkins diet. I am rearranging my dishes, only slightly though because I don't have the quantity to do so fully, or the kitchen space requirements. Probably the origin of spring cleaning too.

All of these outward expressions are just that, expressions. These are the tangible activities I demonstrate in my preparation for Pesach, the majority of the transitions happening internally. I go through my heart and my soul and find the analogous chametz there. Those things which I carry around with me daily, without even thinking about it. I harbor emotions for so long that they become second nature rather than new. The act of baking is a very real reminder to think about other people. Getting my hands in the dough, kneading the bread with just enough pressure for just the right amount of time is a balance which brings my attention to other things in my life which need to balance. Patience is exampled when cookies are rising in the oven and the temptation is to check on them. Or when they finally come out to have them immediately thereby burning my mouth. Where else do I need to apply patience? Outward forces questioning my motivations--why am I doing this --only forces me to answer them for myself. Not succumbing to peer pressure to follow the crowd is a powerful activity, giving myself conviction to do what I know is right (qualifier: right for me).

On an additional level, I have to revisit why this 'holiday' exists--for the same reason I do. G-d led my (your? our?) people out of oppression and into freedom. I don't make bricks all day or plow the land or serve someone else; I don't get beat with a whip; I have plenty to eat and drink. How then can I connect to slavery? Who/what is my oppressor? What am I willing to sacrifice to get freedom? Am I ready to face the unknown, the uncertain? I feel I am better equipped to 'celebrate' once I have these questions answered. And each year I do this, I find some of the same oppressors are still with me. Similarly, I find I have new ones and have been freed from old ones.

To get a little personal, this year, I am feel like a slave to medical diagnosticians and doctors and knives. Most of the time I see a way to freedom, a new perspective is one of the best ways to get there. Control is a familiar oppressor. I should say the need for it and the actual lack of it. I feel more equipped this year than previous because faith has a surprising effect on giving up control. And one that comes and goes I am hoping will go for good this year and that is loneliness. I feel fairly confident in saying we have all felt a bit of this at some point in our lives, I certainly don't see myself as an exception. Internal happiness, friends, passions are my ways to freedom, and this year might be my year.

On a less optimistic note, what happens when freedom is obtained? Our people wandered in the desert for two generations; time enough for memories to lapse. I feel we are at the time in modern history. This year celebrates Israel's 60th year of being a Jewish state. My generation is two removed from those intimately involved in the Shoah. The unknown is scary frankly. The golden cafe was not foreseen. Perhaps in a change of fate, the return to vibrant Judaism was also unseen in the modern era. People reaching out to this tradition and inviting it into their lives. People breaking free from their personal oppressors and willing to face the uncertainty of the future. I feel more ready this year than any previous. Sort of a watch out and see what unfolds spirit.

Shabbat Shalom

Yippie! Another Shabbat. I do so enjoy this time. Earth's rotation and axes gave us days and years, the moon gave us months, but Jews/G-d gave us Shabbat. These days time to put the tv, the computer, the cell phone, the washer, the radio, all on hold. The time to slow down and breathe. It's so easy to forget to do that, and it can be scary--it's just you and your thoughts. I've learned to come and cherish this time and each week approach it with a new attitude and at the same time like I am meeting an old friend. Like a first date with a soulmate?
Just felt like being happy that it's Shabbat and I get to wait a few more days before anything is decided so I might as well enjoy this time immensely, and that is what I intend to do. I'll write more motzi shabbat I'm sure.
SHABBAT SHALOM!!!!!

I've found another passion

What a wonderful way to spend a spring day in Colorado. The morning started out like they do this time of year-with two inches of snow on the ground completely unexpectedly. The wind picked up and I was entertained by a snow-globe view outside my window (or was I really the one in the snow-globe?!). The sun peeked through the clouds long enough to cast off the winter blanket. Then as the day wore on, the clouds rolled in again, this time dark and thick. BOOM! CRASH! CLAP! Thunder rattled my windows and rain danced on the patio. The wind howled. An hour later, calm once again returned. And ever so beautifully, a rainbow came out. All this occurred over less than ten hours, all viewed from my living room window, the majestic mountains as a backdrop.
I found myself home because I needed a day off work, for many reasons, not the least of which was a mental health day. I read tehillim (specifically #28 repeatedly) and this week's parsha (tazria). I searched online for any information on the portion. I went from link to link to link. From one person's very reform and rather detached view to a strict orthodox reading. From G-d who punished to one who ignored. One common thread seemed to be how in jest authors of commentary would note how b'nai mitzvah kids rued getting this parsha because of its gruesome nature. I reveled in its study. For a few hours I did this and my appetite was barely touched. I wished I had more sources at my disposal. I wished I knew how to read/understand Hebrew more fully (ok, at all, ulpan aleph doesn't get a person very far) so that I could better come up with my own interpretations and appreciate those of learned scholars more so. I had a tremendously good time.

I find that I feel somewhat inept when doing prayer on my own, and more so when doing it with an experienced davener. The words seem to flow so easily for them, while I still trip over my chet's and tzadi's. I still find my eyes wandering to the english translation so I can glean meaning from the words which are more beautiful and spiritual in hebrew yet I lack the understanding to grasp even the most basic context. Melodies which I have never heard I struggle to adopt. My mind wishes to be a sponge, some days more saturated than others.

Though I feel a little embarrassed, I keep going, I keep trying, I keep doing. I try not to be shy about asking questions and showing the novice I really am. I cannot wait to lead services and yet am petrified at the thought of people looking to me for guidance--spiritual or practical. No, that's incorrect, not petrified. I'm scared, anticipatory, frightened, excited, giddy, hopeful.

I realized as I was studying, actually, several hours later, how during that time I didn't think of chemistry once. I have such a passion for chemistry. But honestly, I do feel the need to be paid to do it. I recognize that my current job is not ideal for me and that my passion still exists for the subject, a different application would be nice though. Ignoring the practicalities of needing to pay my rent, right now, I'd be happy to study Judaism for free. I smile (rather grin) at the idea of walking into a beit midrash and having all the seferim at my disposal. To learn Hebrew fluently and 'get-it' would be a welcome gift.
Writing the d'var torah challenged me to pull from life, from my own experiences, from teachers I've met and from those I haven't (how cool it would be to have dinner with Miamonides!). I had to get emotional and intellectual and spiritual. Granted, I didn't need any calculus or advanced math (same can be said for current job though). I didn't need to wonder about molecular interactions. Rather, I got to wonder about human interactions and about divine interactions. I'm boggled still.

It is nice to know that I have found something else which drives my passion so much that I forget the passage of time, that I take myself out of my own head and my daily life. It is such a gift to have the time to do that and to know that I have found twice what some people struggle to find ever. Now if only I can learn to accommodate both adequately. I think I am now, but a little more Jewish study would be nice. It's all a learning process.

d'var torah, parsha tazria

So I was asked to give a d'var torah at the upcoming synagogue board meeting. I was very honored to be asked for so many reasons. I am fairly new to the board and am the youngest member. Many times I have a hard time saying what I think--partially for intimidation reasons but also because I just don't know how to interrupt respectfully and I feel like I have a lack of experience. This gives me the opportunity to show something of myself to this group and to be vocal which will help facilitate more conversations I hope. Here it is, as I feel it is an interesting parsha and an interesting take and one which is very relevant to my life.

D’var Torah:

Tazria, Leviticus 12:1−13:59

Shabbat HaChodesh, April 5, 2008 / 29 Adar II, 5768

This week’s parsha is so chocked full of gruesome details dealing with issues ranging from childbirth and circumcision to skin disease and mold, it is hard to know where to begin and to see beyond the gore.

Why is a woman unclean after giving birth, and doubly-so if a girl is born? Why is clothing with marks unclean? Why is a person with a blemish unclean? What does it mean to be unclean?

When a woman has a baby, she cannot focus on much else—we have some great examples of that here recently—nor should she. It is commented that the time is double for a daughter because birth is unclean and a daughter can perpetuate that uncleanliness when she becomes a mother, so it is twice as long because there is double uncleanliness. All the mother’s energy is going to the little life that depends on her fully. She barely has time to sleep or eat, let alone devote any time to prayer.

When a piece of cloth is damaged, the wearer and observers focus on it. It becomes a sore spot, a distraction. A recent ad for clorox I think has a stain on a man’s shirt in an interview doing the talking, the prospective employer unable to pay attention to the person. The parsha also refers to material which could be mold. Anyone who’s dealt with mold on window sills or ceiling tiles or bathrooms knows what a hazard it can be. And knows it must be taken care of rather immediately.

When a person has a blemish, all attention is fixated on the spot. From small ones, like a child who can’t stop picking at a scab, to bigger ones, like a person coming out of surgery. From the acute to the chronic, ‘blemishes’ divert concentration away from holy matters.

Perhaps that is what is meant by unclean then. Not that a person or garment is dirty, unwanted, filthy but rather unfit to attend to holy activities because they are dealing with something much more pressing. So much energy is required for holy work that a person who is so tired—physically and emotionally—is exempt from participating.

How to go about becoming exempt? In the priestly days, a priest would have to come and check out the afflicted and make a verdict of clean/unclean. In some cases an answer would be delivered immediately, in other cases, seven days would have to pass, and some still, seven more. Many great philosophers were thinkers, spiritual leaders, and healers, such as Miamonides. These days, modern society has separated these roles and the authority given to the medical professionals to declare clean or unclean. This is true for emotional illness with psychiatrists as well as physical ones with doctors.

A person goes to the doctor because something unusual has appeared, or in some cases because it is time for a routine checkup. Typically there is a week or two to wait while results are being processed. Even a healthy person has at least minor concerns. Shows like ER, House, Grey’s Anatomy have filled our heads with dramatic diseases and horrific visions. This person is quiet about the tests, why spread personal paranoia when it is probably nothing? Maybe they’ll tell their spouse or close friends or rabbi. And then the verdict, unclean.

Flashback to days of old. This recently diagnosed person would have to go throughout town proclaiming themselves unclean for all the townspeople to hear. The details of how are described in the text. This was a requirement. Who derives benefit from this declaration? At first read, it appears to be adding insult to injury, causing additional shame and humiliation to fall on the already fallen. On further review, this person is crying out for help. They are required to call out for help, for all to witness.

Back to present day. The doctor has come back and said unclean. How hard it is to say “I need help”! The embarrassment and humility surrounding a disease is hard enough, makes a person want to just curl up and be left alone. If we are to follow the text though, this is not an option. By saying you must cry out, it alleviates the embarrassment. Through the continual dance between sickness and health, we cry out. This public acknowledgement is beneficial for the community as well. The community is forced not to avert their eyes. It is much easier saying ‘I did nothing because I didn’t know’ when there isn’t someone screaming their problems. It is a call to action.

A call to action for those who are fit to be holy, to do G-d’s work, to help those who are in need. The proclamation can be handed to anyone of us at any time. So while you are still clean, it is time to act. Somehow in someway. As with tzara’at, with healing blood would be placed on the right ear, right thumb, and right big toe. In doing so, priests recognized the totality of the suffering and the need for r’fuah sh’leimah—the healing of body, mind, and soul. And as it says ‘he shall be unclean as long as the disease is on him’. This means, until a person is healed, do not stop, do not neglect them. Do not let those on the outskirts of the community remain there because you did not hear their cries. So I implore you to act—if not now, when?